


Queer as Folk: Rainbow Family

by drewerig



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, HIV/AIDS, Inspired by Real Events, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27357844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drewerig/pseuds/drewerig
Summary: Set ten years after the end of Queer as Folk, we come back to Liberty Avenue through the eyes of a brand new generation.  New themes are examined, new relationships are explored, and we check in with our favorites as a new generation makes their mark on the Pittsburgh scene.This story is told from the first-person perspective of a brand new character and is read like a theoretical sequel to the American version.
Relationships: Ben Bruckner/Michael Novotny, Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk)/Other(s), James "Hunter" Montgomery/Original Female Character(s), James 'Hunter' Montgomery/Original Male Character(s), Original Male/Female Character(s)/Original Male/Female Character(s), Ted Schmidt/Blake Wyzecki
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Queer as Folk: Rainbow Family

**Author's Note:**

> So this story not only takes place about ten years after the end of the US Queer as Folk, but it also took me about ten years to finally get my act together long enough to write this all down. It was a painstakingly slow process, but I finally got around to putting my ideas down onto paper and wanted to share it with the world.
> 
> Before we begin here, I want to thank all of you that took the time to read through (and edit) this chapter, and a BIG thank you to Vanessa and Jen (they know who they are) for making me think critically and actually getting me to WERK. It only made my first chapter even stronger, and I can't wait for the next chapter to be written so the two of you can read through it and make me think about it more.
> 
> Okay, I've talked for way too long. Feel free to leave me a comment, a kudo, a thumbs-up, a whatever! I'm excited for you to get to know these new characters in the same way we all know (and love) the original US cast!

* * *

**_June 25, 2015_ _  
_ _Liberty Diner_ **

Liberty Diner is the starting point for any little gay boy trying to make it in the world, a refuge for those that the world does not accept. The cheap veneer booth seats provide an odd sort of comfort to those looking for it, and friendly conversation over diner food solves just about anything. You just feel like you belong when you step through the front doors. Debbie Novotny, every gay Pittsburgher’s favorite waitress and surrogate mother to the masses of misfit toys that call Liberty Avenue home, is a big part of this feeling. She’s worked as a waitress at the Diner since the beginning of time. Except now, she owns it.

As I walk through the doors of the Liberty Diner, I greet Deb with an enthusiastic wave.

“Take a seat anywhere, hun. I’ll come over in a minute with your mozzarella sticks and Diet Coke.” Deb has on her wide smile, her trademark rainbow vest, and enough flair to make Billy Graham keel over; I swear that thing has got to be older than I am. The vest is traditional Deb, along with her quick wit and (sometimes) overbearing personality, though the fiery-red wig she used to wear has been replaced by her natural grey hair. She balances plates on her arms with Cirque du Soleil precision as they filter through the window into the kitchen and yells back to the cooks with the usual sass and vinegar.

I take my usual seat and pull my messenger bag off my shoulder onto the seat. I figure I had some time to kill before I’m due back at the office, and I am not interested in skipping lunch, no matter what my boss says about carbs. In no time at all, I am staring down at six sticks of fried cheesy goodness and a cheerful, if overbearing and nosy Deb sitting across from me. She wants a check-up, and the mozzarella sticks are a delicious bribe. “Out on your lunch break?”

“I don’t get a lunch break, remember,” I say sarcastically, grabbing a stick and biting into it.  _ Oww, hot. _ “I’m not going to be dragged into the darkroom at Babylon with a young dad bod.”

This self-deprecation elicits an eye-roll from Deb. “Kyle, don’t you listen to a single word that idiot says.”

“That idiot happens to be my boss, so…”

I bite into the mozzarella stick again and manage not to burn my mouth this time. How can I say anything to the contrary when my boss just happens to be correct?

“I had to pick up some oversized prints Brian sent to the professional printers down the street.  _ Don’t come back without them and sit on them if you have to. _ ” I perform my best impression of my boss; I’m getting good at being as deadpan as possible. “They weren’t ready,  _ quelle surprise, _ so I figured I’d grab some lunch while I wait for them to text me.”

Deb looks at me, smirkingly. “Well, then maybe you want something other than just mozzarella sticks?”

“No, these are good. They make me feel better.”

“What’s wrong,” she asks me in that motherly concern of hers. “Another shitty date?”

No matter how much you want her to be wrong, she’s usually right on the money.

“What is it with gay guys in this city having the personality of a gnat? Sure, he might have a nice dick, but he’ll bore you to death first.”

Deb laughs heartily. “Honey, the straight ones aren’t any better.”

“And what would you know about that exactly?”

Both Deb and I turn our heads to the new entrant to the conversation: Deb’s son Michael. In the years that Deb’s been taking care of all us wayward souls, you just seem to get to know Michael, too. Mostly because he’s trying to save you from some god-awkward conversation with his mother. I know Michael pretty well, partially because I had his hot husband Ben (Professor Buckner in class, Professor Daddy behind his back) as a professor in my Queer Studies class at Carnegie Mellon, but also because their son Hunter is a right pain in the ass and a reluctant friend of mine. (The reluctance is on my part, believe me.)

Michael’s also the best person I could think possible to have a conversation with regarding anything “nerdy;” I guess it helps to own your own comic book store. He’s the nicest guy you’ll never meet, and the only person he seems to get into an argument with is his mother. If you can classify any older guy as adorable or cute, Michael would be the picture to use. If he weren’t already happily married, he’d be the perfect man for me. I’m reasonably sure we’re both bottoms, though.

I move my bag to the other side of me and scoot over to allow Michael to sit down next to me in the booth. He promptly grabs one of my mozzarella sticks, and I shoot him a dirty look.

“Ma, I’m pretty sure you can’t talk about how straight guys are when you’ve shacked up with the same straight guy for the last ten years.”

Deb pours some sass and vinegar in Michael’s direction. “I’ll have you know that I used to turn heads back in the day.”

“Well, certainly not here,” I respond. Michael chuckles.

“You want to keep these mozzarella sticks?”

Deb does not always appreciate my sarcasm. I blush and non-verbally apologize.

“What brought this topic of conversation up, exactly,” Michael asks.

“I was telling your mom about the latest date disaster. Dude asked me if I was into open relationships and barebacking before my salad came. I had more of a connection with my pasta.”

“Sounds like a charmer,” Deb interjects.

“Where’d you find this guy?”

“I swiped right on Tinder when I should have swiped left.” I open the app on my phone, find the guy in question, and hand it over to Michael.

Michael swipes through each picture of the guy-of-the-week. Selfie of him making a duck face. Obligatory gym photo. Cute photo of him with a puppy. Photo of him lying in bed. Photo of him in a business suit with his shirt half-unbuttoned. Inspirational quote from the Dalai  _ Llama _ . “Someone should probably tell Chris he spelled Lama wrong,” he laughs as he hands the phone back to me. I reread his bio and am horrified that I didn’t notice it before. “Why did you agree to go out with this guy in the first place?”

In all honesty? I have no idea what possessed me to make such a stupid decision. I was probably dickmatized and didn’t want to spend yet another night listening to my sister and her boyfriend either having sex loudly or arguing, also loudly. Maybe - just maybe - I’m lonely enough to go out on a date full well knowing it wasn’t going to go anywhere past the restaurant. “Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

I notice Michael and Deb share a look between each other. This can’t be good.

“You know, if you want, I might know someone…”

“No, Deb, I’m not interested in being set up!” Deb brings this up at least once a month.

“Why not?! I have excellent taste!”

“Or at least she knows every gay guy this side of the river,” Michael interjects, which earns him a slap on the hand from his mother.

“No, thank you,” I definitively utter, and with that, the conversation stops.

Deb turns to me and smiles sweetly (or maybe sadly) before moving to get up out of the booth. “Well, these hungry people’s orders aren’t just going to float into the kitchen themselves,” she says. Kissing Michael on the head, she walks away from the booth and over to take another group’s order a few tables down.

Michael shifts over to the other bench, so the two of us face each other. “How’s Zoe these days? I haven’t seen her around much.”

“She’s good, I guess. Busy on her art, you know her.” Zoe, my twin sister, used to spend a lot of her life on Liberty Avenue after she left (or rather, was kicked out of) our parents’ home ten years ago. Things changed when she met Dylan, her dumpster of a boyfriend, two years ago. They have been inseparable ever since, and she doesn’t see much of the neighborhood these days. It’s been a week since we’ve last talked - another week, another fight between us about Dylan.

“That asshole’s still around?” Deb interjects.

I grab another mozzarella stick. “Sadly, yes.”

Michael shakes his head. “I don’t understand it - what does your sister see in him, exactly?”

“A sparring partner?”

Michael  _ hmms  _ in agreement with my sarcastic comment. It’s at that point that my phone buzzes, and I immediately check it. “Expecting someone?”

“Yeah, I was waiting for the printers to finish developing some oversized prints for an ad for this new client of ours. You know how Brian gets if anyone keeps him waiting.”

“Oh yeah, Brian Kinney, the sun to our solar systems,” Deb says with a vinegar voice.

I grab my messenger bag and shimmy out of the booth. After securing it on my shoulder, I reach into my back jeans pocket for my wallet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Michael directs me, stopping me from pulling out cash. “You have to deal with Brian; the least I can do is treat you to some mozzarella sticks.”

I smile. Michael is one of the best. “Thanks.”

“See you around, kiddo,” he shouts at me as I head for the door.

* * *

**_Later that day..._ _  
_ _Kinnetik Corps Company Offices_ **

“And why is it that every time I send something to that fucking printer, it takes at least four hours more than what they tell me?”

I’m back in the office of Kinnetik Corps, one of Pittsburgh’s most renowned ad agencies, listening to my boss as he rails on me and anyone else within earshot. In the three years I’ve worked for Brian Kinney, Kinnetik has grown from a small ad agency tailoring to those looking to court the gay dollar to a huge ad agency in several cities in the United States and Canada tailoring to those looking to court money in general. However, the only thing that ever really seems to change about Brian is that the guys he entertains himself with seem to stay the same age as he gets older and older.

Brian is the kind of guy everyone knows, and everyone either wants to be Brian or be with Brian. He’s vain, arrogant, and narcissistic, but it seems as though he has a right to be that way to most people. His confidence is a cologne sprayed on everyone around him. He embraces the stereotype of the gay man - promiscuous, with an inability or apathy to ever settle down or grow up - because he doesn’t feel the need to conform to anyone’s standards other than his own. Sometimes, I find these qualities to be refreshing and honest. Other times, especially when these qualities are turned against you, they can be downright terrifying.

“Should I start checking for other printers again,” I ask.

Brian leans on my desk and cocks an eyebrow. “No, Kyle, I want you to make a bundt cake.” He rolls his eyes before continuing. “I wanted you to pressure them into getting it done when they told us it would get done.”

“I’m sorry,” I respond, not knowing what else to say. “I’m not good with pressuring.”

“Well, you’re going to get good.” After a bit of a pregnant pause, Brian continues. “Or you can go back to being a quiet little bookworm and spend your entire day in the filing room once again.” With that, Brian walks away.

I put my head in my hands. There are some days where I don’t for the life of me understand why in the world I took this job in the first place. Sure, it will look fantastic on my resume, but is it worth feeling like shit?

I put my head down and focus on the other work I have to do. “I love my job; I love my job,” I mutter to myself.

At that point, I look back up and notice the prying eyes of Ted Schmidt, staring at me from behind the desk in his office. Ted is Kinnetik’s CFO, and one of the few reasons I have managed to stay sane in this place for so long without developing a severe alcohol-slash-drug problem. If anyone were to try and find the exact opposite of Brian in almost every way, it would be Ted. Where Brian’s confidence exudes from his pores, Ted’s is kept very close to the chest. Politically conservative isn’t the right word to describe Ted, but he still operates from the perspective of an old-fashioned upbringing. He’s a khaki-and-golf-shirt all day kind of guy, which I find to be charming - in a weird sort of way.

I give him a small, if sad, smile, and he gets up from his desk in turn. He walks out of his office and over to me. “Another fun day at the salt mines?”

“Can I ask you a question,” I request of him, and then focus my eyes on the closed door of Brian’s office. “Was he always this way?”

Ted chuckles. “Worse, if you can imagine such a thing.”

I turn back to him, and weariness and unsureness appear all over my face. “I get it,” Ted says, with a helpful yet sad smile on his face to match. “It’s not easy being in his direct line of fire.”

“How do you handle it? I mean, I know the two of you are friends and all, but…”

Ted leans against my desk and lightly snickers. “Yeah, he’s an ass. He’s also been there when no one else was.”

I guess that makes sense to me, but I can’t imagine Brian Kinney being there for anyone other than himself. Maybe it’s because I’ve only seen him in this context, but I can’t imagine he’s any way other than this with everything and everyone in his life. Still, he’s who he is - and if I’m going to get ahead in this world, maybe it’s not such a bad idea to emulate him.

Maybe not everything, though, just a little bit. I don’t want to be a complete monster.

Onto other topics. “How’s Blake?”

“Good. Nervous these days, but good. Hard to find anyone that isn’t.”

To this day, I don’t quite understand Blake and Ted, but it just works. I’ve only met Blake a few times, usually out-and-about with Ted, but they seem to live the everyday couple life. Out for brunch, out grocery shopping, out at the diner. They seem to speak a language no one else does, but it works for them in ways that are inspiring to witness. I can’t imagine any beds set on fire, but you can tell they genuinely love each other. I don’t pry into their past, but it’s easy to say they indeed share a storied one. No one else will bother to tell me, either.

Blake and Ted have been acting like a married couple for as long as I have known them. A framed picture of Blake sits on a prime location on Ted’s desk (side note: I’m very thankful to be working in a place that you can do that) and Ted will always use the “we” when talking about his personal life, but I learned a couple of months ago that they sadly aren’t married...yet. They've been waiting to get married for years. Though it’s legal now in PA (it’s been for about a year), everyone’s keeping their eyes on the news out of Washington DC. Michael and Ben took the plunge in Canada like all the gays did back then, but I’m sure they’re just as nervous. We all are.

It’s hard to explain to people whose civil rights haven’t been decided by a group of people in black robes what it’s like for those of us on the other side of the coin. Just imagine that it’s a slow buzz in the back of your mind, like how you hear your refrigerator running. It’s always there, and it never goes away.

I must have been lost in thought for enough time as Ted starts to wave his hand in front of my face. “Where did you go just now,” he asks.

“Lost in my thoughts, I guess.” I don’t want to tell Ted I was thinking about him and Blake. It would have just sounded wrong no matter how it came out.

“You know what you need?”

I look at Ted with a sarcastic smirk. “A full-frontal lobotomy?”

He laughs. “No, fresh out of that. It’s Jock night at Babylon.”

The sarcastic smirk grew. “Didn’t realize I was an athlete, Ted.”

“No, but you’re an athletic supporter.”

Okay, I admit, that’s pretty funny. After a quick pause, I tell Ted I would think about it, which satisfies him enough to go back to his office.

Let me tell you the reasons why Club Babylon’s not my kind of place. It’s a dark, sweaty mess of hedonism and a meat market for the self-obsessed and self-satisfying. Sure, that sounds like an absolute hit for someone in their (not so) late twenties, but have I mentioned that I’m secretly a seventy-five-year-old man with a penchant for wanting to go to bed before the sun comes up? My roommate always wants to drag me there on a day that ends in the letter -y, which is ironic in the sense that he  _ does _ drag, but I’ll often let him go off on his own. His ever-so-fabulous self has more fun there with our mutual fruit-fly without me, anyways. I like picking up the odd shift here and there at the Diner - even though I haven’t been an actual employee there for years - and I won’t turn down a quiet Showtunes night at Woody’s, but that only attracts the silver fox crowd, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Oh, and did I happen to mention Brian’s the owner?

* * *

**_Later that day..._ _  
_ _Marcus and Kyle’s Apartment_ **

I barely get in the door of my apartment when I hear the irritating tones of Hunter as he’s talking to my roommate from the couch of our living room. Great, I think to myself, exactly who I want to see today.

Hearing the door open and close, Hunter turns around. Upon seeing me, his eyes light up with devilish glee. “Well, hello there! And how are we today, Kyle?” He jumps over the couch, almost tripping over his own two feet in the landing, as he runs over to greet me with delight.

As he stated to me years ago, after getting to know him and his dads, I am his favorite plaything. “Hello to you too, Hunter.”

_ “Hello to you too, Hunter,” _ he says back, mockingly. “Hard day at work, babe?”

He comes to hug me, which usually involves some sort of ass grabbing or juvenile prank, and I slip my way around him.

“Don’t start with him, Hunter.” Marcus comes walking out of his room and takes one look at me. “Long day?” He embraces me in a full-hug.

Marcus’ hugs are honestly the best. He’s an understanding, caring, and generous human being, and I’m so glad he’s not just my roommate but my best friend. He knows where all of the bodies are buried - he’s buried half of them with me - and we adopted each other as a family from the second we met each other. It helps that neither one of our own families supported our “alternative lifestyles,” as my parents called it. My parents, the waspy country clubbers that refused to let two out of five kids live a life anything other than what they prescribed,  _ invited _ us to leave the nest. His mother, a Jesus-fearing Baptist, physically came after him with one of her most excellent church kitten heels. The best part of Marcus’ story is when he says he would never be caught dead wearing something with that small of a heel.

As much as I talk about my life being tough, and yeah, sometimes it is, I can’t imagine what it must be like to be Marcus. First, I’m so white that I’m clear, I’m straight-laced and never try anything considered dangerous, and try to blend in. Marcus is literally none of those things. You can’t blend in if you walk through life as a black gay man often up in drag, and I must say Marcus seems to do it better than anyone else. 

“What else is new?” I return the embrace as Hunter makes his way back to the couch. I move to my room while telling the two of them I’m going to lie down.

“And is that your game plan for the rest of the evening? Want your AARP card now,” interjects Hunter.

“Hunter, shut up,” Marcus says as he follows me into my room and closes the door behind him. It’s now just the two of us as I hear the TV turn on in the living room.

“Zoe called me today,” Marcus mutters out of the blue. That woke me up.

“Oh, good. I’m glad she’s talking to you.”

Zoe and I share Marcus as a best friend, and while it’s unfair that he ends up in the middle of our spats, he doesn’t mind playing peacemaker.

“Girl, don’t be like that. You know she loves you.”

I throw my bag down next to my desk and start to get out of my work clothes. “We’re contractually obligated to love each other; like is another story.”

“Man, I’m glad I don’t have any siblings.” Marcus takes my computer chair and wheels it out to sit on it.

“Yeah, you deal with queens you’re not related to, instead.”

Marcus laughs. “Hey, they are my sisters.”

“Very true. What did Zoe have to say for herself?”

“She wants you to come out with us to Babylon tonight.”

I stop dead in my tracks and turned back to Marcus. “Wait,  _ she’s  _ going out tonight? To  _ Babylon? _ And that demon seed is letting her?!” My sister hadn’t been to Babylon in...well, let’s just say it’s been a long time, or at least before she met Dylan.

“That demon seed was thrown out of their mutual apartment this morning.”

Now I’m stunned. “Holy shit, seriously?”

Marcus gets up from the chair and walks over to me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “And you say miracles don’t happen.”

“What happened? Every time I broach the subject, she gets defensive.”

Marcus gives me a look. The one that indicates I am utterly obtuse. “Have you thought through the fact that she needed to get there on her own? Have you thought about the fact that you aren’t necessarily the best person to have that conversation with her?”

“What? Why not?”

“You yelled at her.”

From the other room, we both hear Hunter say, “Because you suck at giving life advice, loser.”

“Butt out, Hunter,” I yell back. Then, to Marcus, I say, “I was talking loudly.” When the look on Marcus’ face becomes even more severe, I back down. “Okay, I admit it, I’m not exactly unbiased here. But she’s my sister! And he’s an asshole!”

“No, shit.”

Marcus goes to leave my room, but he turns around to me after he opens the door. “You’re coming tonight. Don’t wanna hear it. Take your nap and rally, rally, rally. We’re going to pregame here at 9. Be ready by 8:30.”

I have most of my work clothes off and on the floor. “Wait, why do I have to be ready by 8:30?”

“Cause I need a half-an-hour to correct your wardrobe mistakes, and I cannot have you looking like a fifty-year-old accountant tonight?”

I would try to come up with a good comeback, but it’s of no use. Marcus’ first language is the fine art of shade. The only thing I can do is to address the laughter I hear coming from the living room. “Fuck off!”

“Such language!”

I drag myself over to my closet as Marcus hovers nearby, and instantly hate every single article of clothing I own. I hold up a plaid shirt and Marcus looks horrified, so I immediately put that one down. I go through shirt after shirt and just get depressed looking at each one, and the same with the pants. These will give me a muffin top. I’m too pale to wear this. With this one, I have a weird left shoulder.

I grab a polo. Polos are safe! Polos are fun! Oh god, now I know I’ve hit rock bottom when I start thinking like Ted.

“Uhh, are you going golfing or some other white nonsense?” Marcus rhetorically asks me, taking the polo into his own hands and throwing it clear across the room. “Do you have a country club membership somewhere?”

I grimace at the mention of country clubs, and Marcus lets up. “Sorry.” A short pause, then, “But that shirt was not acceptable.”

I’m hopeless. “What shirt is acceptable?”

Marcus looks into my closet, and visibly thinks. “Do you trust me?”

“Should I?”

* * *

**_Later that night..._ _  
_ _Club Babylon_ **

Club Babylon is packed to the rafters on Thursdays, and the themed nights help bring out the hedonistic masses even more. The same lingering BO smell remains, but it’s easy to cover it up with the stench of CKone, body glitter, and lube. Not as easy tonight, so the Jock theme is particularly apt.

Thanks to Marcus, tonight I resemble some Abercrombie & Fitch-cum-Czech gay porn star extra. I’m uncomfortable, I’m shirtless, I’m covered in body glitter, I’m freezing, which is evident from the two bullseyes on my chest, and I’m wearing a pair of jeans that have more holes in them than actual jean material. I’m not sure I feel like a jock so much as a rentboy from those pervy ads in the back of gay magazines, and I’m not sure why I’m even wearing pants when you can see the overly priced briefs underneath.

“Uncross your arms. You look weird,” Marcus yells at me over the music, which is blaring louder than I can even think. We’re standing at the bar, and I can’t even bring myself to get a drink.

“Well, I feel weird! I can’t believe you browbeat me into coming!”

“Yeah, why did we invite you again?” Hunter nastily comments.

“You...attempt to have fun,” Marcus points and insists on me and then faces Hunter. “You...stop being an asshole.”

Hunter downs the rest of his drink in one go. “I am what I eat.”

And with that, Hunter joins the crowd of people on the dance floor, instantly catching the eye of a younger dude. That will be the last time we see Hunter this evening.

You’re probably wondering why I even decided to hang out with Hunter in the first place. Trust me; there are days (like today) where I ask myself that question too. However, some days, we can get along, and he isn’t a complete dick to me. Maybe it’s one of those things where we bring out the worst in each other, and we egg each other on. We may rag on each other, but if anyone else were to do so, we’d instantly defend each other. Another common theme with my friend group: Hunter’s life was hell before he was adopted by Michael and Ben. He shuffled through the foster home system for much of his life and spent a lot of his time out in the streets as a result. He doesn’t like to talk about it with us, and we don’t ask.

“You do realize you could have fun like that, too,” Marcus says to me. “Just let go, and you’ll have a great time. Trust me.”

Maybe I am a little too uptight. All right, I think time to at least try having fun. I turn around and try to flag down the bartender for vodka and sugar-free Red Bull. I am combining a downer with an upper. God bless the demented soul who decided to combine the two, which, while disgusting separately, are delicious together.

“Well, look who decided to come out of his shell this evening,” I hear behind me.

I turn around, and in front of me is my five-foot-ten female clone in a black low-cut top and way-too-low-cut jeans, complete with black eyeliner and eyeshadow.

“Hey, Zoe.” We hug. It’s still a little awkward as I thought it would be, given we weren’t speaking. Guess we’re over that.

She hugs Marcus next. “I’m guessing we have you to thank for my little brother’s makeover this evening,” she inquires of him. He just nods in affirmation and takes a sip of his vodka-cranberry.

I interject. “I was born three minutes after you.” She completely ignores me.

“How are you holding up,” Marcus asks.

“Okay. Better than I thought I would. Dylan’s fucked up one too many times.”

This conversation proves that she’s come to the same realization I had a long time ago about Dylan. Good riddance to useless rubbish.

I’m staying quiet and letting Marcus talk while I sip on my Vodka-Red Bull. I wouldn’t be able to add anything.

“Good on you, sister! I’ll get you a drink to celebrate.” Marcus turns around to get the bartender’s attention, and my sister turns her attention to me.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been here, hasn’t it?”

I nod and take another sip. “I could say the same for you.’

She smirks and moves to lean on the bar next to me. “Yeah, I guess it has. It hasn’t been my place since…” She left a pregnant pause in our conversation that neither one of us felt the need to say because we both knew what she meant.

After the pause, she continues. “Plus, can you imagine Dylan in a place like this? He’d be so freaked out.”

“Yeah, I guess he would have been.” That’s the only thing I can say about the subject without one or both of us getting mad about it and starting an argument, and I’m already up to what I can handle today.

I look down at the drink in my hand, and it’s already almost gone. I feel so ridiculously awkward, being shirtless, and having this uncomfortable conversation. I should say something to my sister, something like I’m proud of her or that I’m ready to kick Dylan’s ass (which is nonsense; the guy spends too much time at the gym for me to do that).

Before I get the chance to fill the void, she does. “Hey.”

I look over at her.

She looks at me, this time with a sort-of-sad smile. I can tell she’s feeling emotional about it; her eyes are getting watery. “I’m sorry. Still love me?”

My eyes feel like copying hers. “Yeah, till the end of time.”

We hug again, and this time, it’s not awkward at all.

* * *

_ After midnight... _ _   
_ _ Still at Club Babylon _

I’m on my third Vodka-Red Bull and feeling utterly fantastic. The club’s gotten even busier. I’m bouncing along to the music standing by the bar. Marcus and my sister have made their way over to the dance floor, and I haven’t seen hide-or-hair of Hunter. He’s probably off in the backroom somewhere.

Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Michael!” I scream in excitement, throw my arms around him, and then see Ben, Ted, and Blake behind him. I greet each of them in kind. Maybe I’m a little too friendly.

“Well, hello to you too!” Michael exclaims in response. “I’ve never seen you so excited...or so naked.”

“Yeah, blame Marcus,” I giggle out. I find this hilarious.

“Someone’s having fun,” Ted says to the group in general. I’m trying to determine if there’s sarcasm in that sentence and failing at it.

“You can’t even...imagine!” I don’t know why I decided to emphasize the word imagine, but it sounds right in my head. Or at least what’s left of it. If this is what it’s like under the influence of alcohol at Babylon, I’m on board.

I notice the looks coming my way from all of them—party poopers.

It’s at this moment that I catch the eyes of what I can only describe as the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. He’s across the dance floor and beautifully tan with dark hair and stubble framing his angelic face. I’m not sure how many packs he has, but I lost count at six. He has a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm and on his left pectoral muscle, which honestly looks so inviting to put my mouth on. (Excuse me, sir, what are you even saying to yourself right now?) He’s smiling, and I’m not sure if he’s smiling at me, but I’m desperately hoping he is. His jeans are so tight it’s leaving very little to the imagination, and the only thing I’m imagining is him slamming me up against a wall in the darkroom and taking me right then and there.

Kyle, you need to calm down. This is so unlike you. I’m telling myself this, but it doesn’t even matter. I’m not even listening to myself at this point. I don’t know if it’s the drinks I’ve been having (who am I kidding, it is) or if I’m just dickmatized, but he’s the only one I’m seeing. I should probably look into why I’m continually dickmatized with a licensed and trained psychologist. Still, for now, I’ve tuned out everyone else, including the people with whom I’m currently having a conversation.

“Look at him! He’s not even paying attention anymore,” I hear Michael say.

“Wait, who’s not paying attention anymore?” I already know the answer to this question, and yet still, I ask it.

“You!” Ted’s on the other side of me now. Blake’s on the other side, and I can tell he’s finding this situation incredibly amusing. “You’re some love-struck teenager!”

“You’re me fifteen years ago staring at Brian,” Michael adds. Ben gives him a stare.

“But...he’s so hot!”

“He’s not an art installation; you know you can go over to him, right,” Ben adds in.

“No, I can’t! I don’t even know if he’s looking at me!” I turn to Ben and Michael. “Oh god, I need another drink!”

“That is the  _ last _ thing you need. Anyway, I think the problem’s about to solve itself.” I’m curious about what Michael’s talking about when he points in the general direction to my right, and I feel another tap on my shoulder.

I turn to my right. Holy shit. It’s him. In front of me.

“Hey...wanna dance?”

God, even his voice is hot. Deep and sultry. I’ve lost the ability to talk; my tongue is tied to the roof of my mouth. All I can do is nod and take his hand when he offers it to me. He’s leading me out to the center of the dance floor, and it feels like the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.

I take a second to look back at my friends. It’s hard to hide my excitement, and funny enough, they look like they’re excited for me too. The only thing I can equate it to is parents looking on with pride at their kids.

We’ll unpack that later. Right now, I just want to dance my ass off with this Adonis. And other things.

We get to the dance floor as  _ Yoü and I _ come on. Is there a more perfect song at this very moment? Gaga knows how to make everything better.

He grabs me right at the waist level and pulls me in closer. It’s at this point that I resemble something akin to a puddle on the floor. Miraculously I’m still standing, but between that and the way he’s smiling directly at me, that is just making this night everything. I’m hoping everyone can see this, see him, and see me, but honestly, I couldn’t tell you if anyone ever did. I just saw him.

“I’m Matt,” I hear him say into my ear. Or at least I think he said his name was Matt. A shiver runs down my body.

“Ky-Kyle.” How embarrassing. I can’t even say my name.

“Well, hey there, Ky-Kyle.” He heartily laughs. Fuck. “You’re hot.”

Nervous giggle. Sober Kyle would be so pissed at me. Sober Kyle can suck it.

The song changes, and the tempo picks up—the perfect opportunity for more (and hornier) dancing.

Mark (I think he said Mark, right) asks me if I come to Babylon often. “Not really, the first time in a while.” I’m now faced the other way, and his hands wrap around me to the front of my hips. He presses himself up against me.

“Makes sense; I would have seen you around.” Again in my ear. I want him to do such perverted things to that ear.

I turn my neck so I can see him better. “Really?”

“Fuck yeah.”

I don’t know what I register first, the fact that I can feel he’s enjoying this as much as I am - and from what I can tell, his enjoyment is massive - or the fact that his lips are on mine at this very moment. I feel his tongue wrestling with mine, and all I know is that I want to exist here for a very long time indeed.

This man is liquid sex. I want it so badly.

“Well, who’s this now,” I hear from my right. Brian’s dancing right next to us with a random guy, who’s not paying any attention to anything else going on around him other than Brian’s see-through shirt.

Oh god. That’s the last person I wanted to see now. My boss. In a nightclub. That he owns. Should have thought that one through. I’m sobering up so quickly. No, no, no! Fun Kyle needs to come back.

“Hi, Brian. This is...uhhh...”

I’m not sure which look I enjoy less, the slight look of amused judgment from the guy I’m making out with or the entertained look from Brian.

Thankfully, my dance partner gets over it pretty quickly. “Miguel. Mike, for short.”

Wait, that wasn’t an option I remembered. I would have remembered a Miguel or Mike for short.

“Cool. Have fun with this one.” I’m standing/dancing right here.

“I intend to.”

Mike (it’s officially Miguel, I remember this now, I promise) takes me back into his embrace, and I am right back to horny teenager mode. I feel the need to apologize for forgetting his name in the fog of lust, but he waves it off as if it didn’t even happen.

“I’ll forgive you for now.” His pearly whites are a work of art. I can’t resist and start making out with him again. I’m pretty sure we’ve cut out the pretense of dancing and are now just dry-humping each other on the dance floor. His hands are directly on my behind, and that is precisely where they belong.

Miguel (yeah, I’m confident it’s Miguel) decides at that moment to take my hand and lead me off the dance floor. I can immediately tell we’re heading off in the direction of the darkroom, and I’m like a kid in a candy store at this point. 

Before we’re able to make it entirely off the dance floor, though, I get stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. Brian’s. He had a face of concern on him, and though he says something to Miguel, I can’t hear him. It’s only a momentary distraction, though, and after a few seconds, Miguel continues to lead me to the darkroom. What a buzzkill Brian is.

* * *

**_June 26, 2015 (the next morning)_ _  
_ _Marcus and Kyle’s Apartment_ **

Wait, how in the fuck did I get here?

I’m in my bed and am now suddenly aware it’s morning.

Wait, what time is it?

Holy shit, it’s 10:30.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m supposed to be at work at noon. Thank god for the late Fridays. The one time I’m so thankful that my boss also owns a bar.

What the hell happened last night? Oh god, I don’t remember.

What is this on my arm? Someone’s phone number?

Oh my god. Wait—that guy. Holy shit. Is this  _ his number? _

Okay, I can’t sit here and try to remember. I have an hour and a half to get fashionable (or presentable) enough to work at an ad agency. Get it together, Kyle.

I think I set a world record for the quickest dresser as I run out of my room. I don’t even know if my roommate made it to work today, but he’s responsible, and his door’s closed. I don’t see Hunter on our couch, either, so no worrying about waking him as if I’d worry about waking him. Keys, check. Chapstick, check. Phone, check. I’ll add Hot Dude’s phone number when I get to work.

Maybe I’ll even have time to stop at the Diner. I’ll run and panic off the carbs.

* * *

**_Later that morning..._ _  
_ _Liberty Diner_ **

It’s quarter-past-eleven by the time I get to the Diner. Deb’s naturally there.

“Well, hello, sunshine,” she greets me from behind the counter. “I heard you had a lot of fun last night!”

Oh god. Of course, she knows. Michael tells her everything, and if he doesn’t, any Liberty Avenue gay would have. “Morning! Running late!”

“Yeah, I would think so, given what you were up to!”

I must have the guiltiest look on my face because her tone immediately changes. “Don’t worry; it happens to everyone. Let’s talk later when you’re not trying to be fired by your boss, huh?”

Small victories. I nod.

Deb goes to get a croissant from the pastry case and my coffee. She always puts it into a to-go cup if I need to skedaddle to solve a Brian emergency. She glances up at the TV attached to the wall, and then all of a sudden, I see her freeze.

What just happened?

I take a look at the TV, and I see what’s on the screen. Everything freezes for me too.

On the screen is MSNBC. Thomas Roberts just cut over to a man outside of the Supreme Court. We all know what this means.

_ “Thomas, I’m speaking to you from the Supreme Court. We have read from the bench: there is a right to marriage equality. I repeat, speaking to you from the steps of the Supreme Court, there is a right to marriage equality read just from the bench now. Waiting to get the opinions as they come running out of the court, Thomas.” _

Everyone in the Diner is looking at the TV and looking at each other in amazement and shock. No one says anything. We don’t know what to say.

“Mom!” I hear Michael screaming behind me. I don’t even know when he came in.

He comes over to me. He has tears in his eyes.

I have tears in mine, too.

He envelopes me and squeezes so hard I can barely feel my body. He’s crying on his shoulder. Deb’s on my other side, hugging both of us. None of us say a word. We don’t need to. We just stand there, watching the TV and hoping that what we see is a reality.

The entirety of the Diner comes to a complete freeze. The patrons are all completely enthralled in the TV and ignoring their breakfasts. The waitstaff and chefs have all completely stopped working. People are starting to come in off the street just to watch with apprehensive joy. This moment...just doesn’t feel real.

Liberty Diner is the starting point, the refuge, the home away from home. It’s where you go if you feel any kind of “different” to feel like you belong. Today, though, it feels like everywhere is the Liberty Diner. We stand here, everyone hugging each other because we know what this means for us. We know this is a brave new world, a world in which we don’t have to huddle in these four walls to find comfort or safety.

As we stand there, crying, we now know for sure that our world is wide open.

And it feels like everything.


End file.
